It's been two weeks since the accident. The doctors told me I was lucky I made it out alive. I don't feel very lucky. They said that my T-10 and T-12 vertebras were shattered in the crash, resulting in paralysis from the waist down. They went on to tell me that it wasn't likely I'd ever walk again. I don't remember the conversation all that well, my mind was still foggy and I was jacked up on morphine, but they said there is a less than five percent chance that I will ever get my legs back. Funny, I remember that part very clearly. I would say that was the worst day of my life, but that doesn't even begin to describe it. I woke up from a three day coma to find that I'm not only paralyzed, but I'm responsible for my best friend's death.

 

  

   WHY DID YOU DO IT, McKENZIE!

 

  

   I lurch forward, feeling the slimy sensation of vomit slide up my throat, but it doesn't come out. I swallow it back. Bile burns my esophagus. I'm so nauseous. I can't accept what's happened. I keep hoping and praying that this is all just some sort of nightmare and I'll wake up any moment. But it isn't. This is real.

 

  

   The crack of pine needles being stepped on comes from behind. Mother's hand slides over my shoulder. She doesn't say anything, which I'm glad for. I really don't want to talk right now. I don't want to live either. I don't want to do anything. I halfway expected her to start consoling me, telling me that everything will be alright, but she doesn't.

 

  

   After a long silence of listening to the leaves skip across the cemetery and the wind whistle in our ears, mother speaks, "We'll get through this." Her voice is quiet and shaky. I'm scared to look up because I know I'll find her eyes red and a shiny with a wet trail down her cheeks.

 

  

   I don't know whether or not she truly believes what she's saying or if she's just giving me hollowed encouragement. Right now, I don't see how it's possible to get through this. My life is going to be completely different. Just pressing on without my best friend is a tragedy all on its own, but doing so as a plegic . . . yeah, not possible. I don't really care, though. I've lost the heart to care. I'm numb. I don't want to live. I don't deserve to live. I want to die.

 

 

   A couple of days after I awoke from my coma, some of the Blue Jays came to visit me in the hospital. It was so awkward. I could tell they didn't really know what to say. They just kind of hovered around my bed, patting my legs from under the hospital sheets, and exchanging expressions of get well soon. Tess brought me a picture frame of the Blue Jays' photoshoot. Realizing that I would never be a cheerleader again made me cry. Then she started crying. Then the rest of the girls started crying. It was a mess. I kept hoping Xander would stop by, then I would tell myself it's for the best that he didn't. I didn't really want him to see me like that. I don't really want him to see me now. He's not going to stay with me. We're over. He's going to walk out of my life. I know it. I'll never find someone. I'll never get married being like this. I feel like crying just thinking about it. My chance at ever finding true love is ruined. No one is going to love someone who's handicapped. That only happens in fairytales or Hallmark movies.

 

  

   Mother moves her hand from my shoulder and runs her fingers through my hair. It's a tattered mess. I hadn't even fixed it since graduation day, not even so much as run a comb through it. I used to spend at least an hour in front of the mirror almost daily. I don't think I've spent five minutes in front of one since the accident. I must look like a wreck, bags under my eyes, flat hair, no makeup. Mom's been dressing me each day since I can't do it on my own. I basically just lie in bed each morning, enslaved within its four posts, until she comes in to help me. I can't even get out of bed on my own. I can't go to the bathroom on my own either. I have to wear this ostomy pouch, as the doctors called it. It's basically a colostomy bag. I can't believe at my age I have to wear one of these. It's so humiliating! This isn't the life I envisioned for myself. I thought I would graduate high school, go to college, become a professional photographer, move to New York where Xander and I would get married and buy an apartment somewhere in the city surrounded by skyline lights and overlooking the Statue of Liberty.

 

  

   I'll never achieve any of that now.